It was a right of passage, so he said,
To reach a point of disillusionment
Where you awaken to a sense of dread,
Setting aside your inner innocent.
There was a madness in the sense he made,
A sadness in my knowing his words true,
That every soul who walks with me has paid
The stiff price of admission that is due.
That is, to look upon our cherished lives
And find them not so bright as they once seemed.
The hollow fact that each of us survives
On table scraps of all that we have dreamed.
I do not know if all the striving ends
In finding that our hopes were worth the fight,
Or if eventually, conviction bends
For each of us, until we yield our light.
But surely, either way, that does not change
The fact that we should struggle for the goal
Of what we crave to be, and in exchange,
Success or loss, we keep our spirits whole.
– s. Clark